


With You

by hybridempress



Category: ACCA13区監察課 | ACCA 13-ku Kansatsuka
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, French Revolution, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, Major Character Injury, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 12:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12864519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hybridempress/pseuds/hybridempress
Summary: Biscuit wants to fight for his country. Warbler wants to find another place to call home. But if Biscuit won't be swayed from his position, Warbler will stay and fight for him until his dying breath.





	With You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eucalyptea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eucalyptea/gifts).



    Warbler’s bed was never warm these days, but it was always colder without his lover lying beside him.

 

    He opened his eyes hoping that he’d find Biscuit still there, just in such a position that he couldn’t be reached. But, of course, that hope was for nothing. The sheets were pulled down and there was an indent of a small figure in the space where Biscuit used to be.

 

    It was still dark outside. The sun had not yet risen or even begun to rise. Through his bleary vision, Warbler could see light coming from the living room through the crack left between the bedroom door and the doorframe. He heard the muffled sounds of clothes and gear being moved around coming from the same room.

 

    Warbler turned from his side and onto his back, stretching his arms out across the mattress as he stared up at the ceiling, which he could hardly make out in the darkness. He lifted his arms up, stretching them above his head, before lowering his hands to his face so that he could rub his eyes. His sight adjusted to the darkness and he could finally see the wooden slats that made up the ceiling of his poor country home. He sighed heavily, knowing what the day ahead of him would bring.

 

    Slowly, he sat up in the bed, letting the sheets slip off of him further. He turned and lowered his feet to the cold wooden floor beneath him, shivering slightly at the feeling. He tossed what sheets remained on his person aside, stood up, and got out of bed.

 

    The floor whined at him as he walked upon it, sending warning to Biscuit that his lover was awake and surely not happy. Warbler never was when it came to these things. But he’d learned by now that there was nothing he could do to stop Biscuit once his mind had been set on something.

 

    “Bis…”

 

    Biscuit turned upon hearing the soft call of his name that came from the doorway to the bedroom. Warbler leaned against the wall, arms crossed, face groggy. Lips curled into a frown for a different reason.

 

    Biscuit lowered his hands from his chest, tired of fussing with the bandages that taped his breasts down under his shirt and knowing that he was as comfortable now as he was going to be for the whole day. He nodded to his lover in greeting.

 

    “Morning, Warbler.”

 

    “You didn’t say anything about going out this morning,” Warbler said, his tone sounding like that of a disappointed father. It was no shock when Biscuit responded like a rebellious child.

 

    “I didn’t know I needed your permission to go outside.”

 

    “You do when going outside means you might not come back.”

 

    Biscuit looked away. He grabbed his rifle off the table and slung it over his shoulder. He grabbed his knives and tucked them away in the sheaths strapped to his belt. Warbler released a heavy sigh.

 

    “I didn’t hear anything about another riot planned,” he murmured.

 

    “Of course you didn’t. You shelter yourself too much,” was the bitter reply. “And it’s not a riot this time. It’s a raid.”

 

    Warbler raised an eyebrow. “A raid? On what?”

 

    “ _La Bastille._ ”

 

    Warbler choked on air. “ _La Bastille?_ Are you insane? You’d have to travel all the way to Paris, and--and what are you going to get out of it? If you try to storm that fortress you’ll be dead for sure! Something like that is impossible!”

 

    “If we storm _Las Bastille,_ we take control. If we can bring that place down, we’ll have a hundred times the weapons and strength that we do now. And the King will fear us. If he fears us, he’ll listen to us. We’ll finally see some change in this country.”

 

    “And what if you fail, Bis? What if this riot is like every other, ending in a flaming pile of shit with people dead who didn’t need to die and nothing accomplished?”

 

    “We’ve accomplished things, Warbler! The tides are changing, we _will_ have the upper hand! And I’m not going to sit here in this _shack_ of a home, biding my time while our brothers are out fighting for our _freedom._ ”

 

    “Freedom from _what,_ Biscuit? From your life? Our country has problems but this failure of a war _isn’t_ the way to solve them. If you want real freedom, we should just… Go to America, like I said before. We could start over. People wouldn’t know you there. They’d take you more seriously. You wouldn’t have to risk your life. We’d be happy.”

 

    It wasn’t as though the idea didn’t appeal to Biscuit. Being in a place where people had never known him as a woman is all he ever wanted. Where people took him seriously for real instead of putting on a façade. Where people didn’t question how useful he was to the cause that he wanted to fight for the most.

 

    But that cause was exactly why Biscuit couldn’t leave. He had to prove himself, to both his country and his brothers. He couldn’t give up now. He’d be seen as a coward for running away. Besides, as troubled as this land may be, it was his home. He couldn’t just abandon it now.

 

    “That hellhole isn’t any better off right now than we are. Sure, they don’t have the Brits on their ass anymore, but they aren’t a country. Our King was a fool to help them and expect anything in return. Moving there wouldn’t change a damn thing. We’d be just as trapped there as we are here.”

 

    “You don’t know that,” Warbler protested.

 

    “You don’t know anything, either,” Biscuit countered.

 

    Warbler opened his mouth to argue, but Biscuit cut him off before he could say anything more. “I’m not going to argue about this again. I need to leave now or I won’t have a ride to the city.”

 

    Biscuit made a double-check of his weapons and supplies before turning towards the door that would lead out of their home. But before he could leave, Warbler held him back. “Wait,” he breathed.

 

    Biscuit turned to look at him again, glaring. “What?”

 

    “If I can’t stop you, then I’m going to come with you.”

 

    Biscuit’s eyes widened and his expression faltered. “Warbler, you can’t. You don’t have the experience, you’ll die--”

 

    “Then so be it,” Warbler said firmly. “Maybe then you’ll realize how pointless this all is.”

 

    Warbler let go of Biscuit’s wrist and walked off to the closet where Biscuit kept his extra weapons and ammunition. A quiet gasp slipped through Biscuit’s lips before his mouth dropped open. “Warbler, wait--”

 

    Warbler stopped by the closet and turned his head to look at Biscuit. The look in his eyes told Biscuit that there was no moving him from his position. He was just as stubborn as Biscuit himself was and there was no stopping him now. Besides, it would be hypocritical of Biscuit to say that Warbler couldn’t come because he might die. Wasn’t that the reason Warbler had been trying to convince him to stay behind all this time?

 

    As Warbler went back to preparing himself for the journey ahead, Biscuit closed his mouth and swallowed hard.

 

\---

 

    The storming of _La Bastille_ took mere hours, yet those gruelling hours felt more like days to Warbler. For a man so nonviolent as he, suddenly being thrown into what was objectively the biggest and most important battle yet was like throwing a man who couldn’t swim into the middle of the sea. All around him, guns were being fired, swords were being drawn, and people were being killed. For him, it was the worst possible scenario. For everyone else, it was just another day for the Revolutionaries.

 

    But he fought with honor nonetheless. With diligence. With passion, as though he had been there since the very first riot had broken out. He did everything to stay by Biscuit’s side, to make sure he didn’t do anything irrational; to make sure he got out of this alive. If Biscuit perished now, Warbler would burn the entirety of France to the ground to avenge him.

 

    Biscuit wasn’t the man who needed protection, though. He fought like the veteran soldier that he was, trained just for this purpose. He didn’t need Warbler to protect him. Warbler needed him.

 

    Warbler hardly heard the scream that followed the gunshot when a searing pain began to spread through his shoulder and he fell back into the dirt only to be trampled by the feet of what must have been a thousand Revolutionaries. By the time he was dragged away from the battlefield, he was barely lucid enough to notice that he was no longer being walked all over. His vision was clouded with dirt and blood and he couldn’t feel any part of his body any longer. He just barely made out Biscuit’s voice begging him to stay awake before he passed into unconsciousness.

 

    When he awoke, it was to the sound of a fire crackling next to him, the sensation of a wet towel on his forehead, and the feeling of his fingers laced with someone else’s. Lips pressed to the back of his hand. The murmur of a prayer from his lover’s mouth. He opened his eyes just to see Biscuit sitting beside him with his eyes closed and tear stains glistening on his cheeks.

 

    “Bis…”

 

    Biscuit gasped and his eyes shot open upon hearing the soft call of his name that came from the mattress he was sitting beside. His prayer interrupted, he turned his attention to the injured man lying beneath him, looking as though he was seeing a ghost. Warbler’s fingers twitched inside Biscuit’s grip and he attempted to squeeze Biscuit’s hand tighter.

 

    “What happened…?” Warbler asked.

 

    “Y-you were shot,” Biscuit replied hesitantly, like he still didn’t believe that Warbler was awake.

 

    “Tch.” Warbler used his free hand to reach over to his shoulder, feeling the bandages that had been wrapped around it. He winced as his fingers grazed over the spot where he had been shot. Even that small bit of pressure still caused him pain.

 

    Biscuit’s eyes began to water again. “Dammit, Warbler! I told you! I told you you didn’t have the experience! You could’ve died, Warbler! What the hell were you thinking, following me like that!?”

 

    Warbler grunted in response. “If not me, it could have been you. I couldn’t take that risk.”

 

    “Damn you…” Biscuit hissed, but his anger was quickly overcome by relief, and he leaned down to lay his head on Warbler’s chest, burying his face into the fabric of his shirt and crying into it.

 

    Warbler raised his hand just to set it down in Biscuit’s hair. His fingers combed through the short black locks, ruining their slicked-back appearance. He tilted his head back and looked up at the wooden planks that made up the ceiling of whoever’s home they were in now. He couldn’t help feeling like that battle had been an induction ceremony of some sort. Like he was really tied to the cause now and he couldn’t get out of it.

 

    “I’m here now, Bis,” Warbler whispered softly. “For better or worse, I’m fighting with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> 2/2 of the acca fics i'm uploading today! I like this one considerably more than the last, probably bc i ship bis/warbler harder and also the French Revolution was a special interest of mine back in the day. I actually used my own 5k word essay that i wrote in my first semester of college as a point of reference when deciding where exactly I should put this fic in the timeline of the war. I had a lot of fun with it! Hope you guys enjoy! Thanks again, Jean!


End file.
